Sweaty, tired feet, exhausted but determined. I lie in the direct reach of my air conditioner, my apartment is pretty muggy and hot. I roasted a whole chicken tonight, rubbed in delicious Pakistani spices. I boiled 3 lb of chicken breast for myself for the week. I portioned the food out in to little containers, my butchery skills definitely need some work.

I follow this influential Instagram account. I like the lady that runs it – she seems real and talks about things in an earnest, hopeful way. I hope her weight loss journey is not a result of going under a knife on the surgeons table. You can never tell these days. But she said something important once which I love – “when it comes to your food and diet, failing to plan is planning to fail.”

So I’m planning all my meals, and for the first time in my life, I’m actually putting myself first. It only took twenty eight years. Just writing about this topic gives me anxiety. I never like to talk about it, it is painful. It reminds me of that one time an ex of mine compared me to his sisters friends’ photo on Facebook, pointing to it saying : “why can’t you look more like her?” Or another time when another ex told me he imagines I’m someone else when he has sex with me. Or perhaps that one time the guy I really liked told me a relationship is not in the books for us because he can’t be with someone who doesn’t “take care of herself”, that women should be strictly under 140 lb before they have children, or maybe another time when an ex I regretfully stayed friends with told me that I can’t get the kind of guy I’m looking for if I don’t lose weight. All of them profusely apologized afterwards, saying they said it on purpose to hurt my feelings or they didn’t mean it “like that” but let’s be real and not kid ourselves here – We all know there was a purpose to all of it.

You get the gist. There is a lot of pain for me surrounding this topic. Growing up my mother mercilessly ridiculed, taunted and criticized the living daylights out of my figure, my growing breasts and general body. I was 120 lb, in wonderful shape but I wasn’t a size 0 like all other girls around me were. So I was “FAT” by Pakistani grade school standards and I think for all these years that label has stuck, and only reinforced over time.

Being disciplined with myself for the last two weeks and seeing myself 5 lb down the scale (and many more to go), I have finally realized that I don’t have to be stuck with that label for life. I finally learned to respect myself, respect my body and know that my worth is far beyond the scope of my physical appearance, unlike every single man I’ve dated would want me to believe.

In the past week I have noticed a pattern in my life that is scarring, and eye opening. I get with men who generally run on the insecure and inferior side. All the men I have dated were inferior to me in at least one or more category – they were either huge FOBs trying to fit in to a younger college crowd, far less successful and well to do than me in terms of career, independence and finances or far less good looking than me. In order to gain the upper hand in relationships with me they picked on the one single insecurity I had and ran with it – my weight.

I am hopelessly romantic, and Im not gonna lie – in the past and even to this day I spent a lot of my precious time working hard to gain affection and give love to men who all the while felt they were in constant competition with me. Telling me I’m not in the shape that’s ideal isn’t a way for any guy to “look out” for me. Are you fucking kidding me? Get out of here if you buy that bullshit on any day. What is he, my dad? When a guy tells me I’m fat, It’s a way to put me down using the only thing I am deeply sensitive and worried about, so I ignore the blatant fact about how much better than him I am in literally every other category of life. Because let’s be real- if I was so unacceptably fat, they wouldn’t be around me. Nobody hangs around a grotesque unappealing creature willingly.

By establishing the dynamic where I’m fat enough to not be considered perfect and amazing in their eyes, but thin enough to stay in a relationship with, all these men have successfully created a constant, living hell hole for me. A constant stream of body image insecurity that they can pull out any time they feel I’m getting ahead of them or have the upper hand in the relationship. He’s having a bad day? He’s gonna point out Reema’s hump behind her neck. You get the idea.

One major realization I had in the past few days is that I don’t have to be with men who use my insecurities against me. I don’t have to date them, I don’t have to be friends with them, listen to them be short and bitchy with me, or constantly bicker with me about little shitty things.

I don’t even wanna date until I tackle this insecurity of mine. Forget about dating, I don’t even wanna fuck a guy till I feel 100% in physical form. As a girl who barely has 30 lb to lose, this weight loss journey is not a long one either. It’s not like I’m morbidly obese and need clinical help. The last few weeks prove anything but! All I need is ample sleep – going to bed at 10 pm, good food (hello, meal prep) and to be surrounded by positive people (goodbye, men). I am almost angry at myself after realizing how fucking easy a fix it is to this insecurity of mine. I am angry that it takes so little for me to feel so great about myself and to feel a physical difference in my body. It took so little to fit in the jeans I used to wear in college. It took such a small, mindful effort to stock up on supplements good for my body.

When I come out of the other end of this, I will be a force to reckon with, and I will never ever look back at any of the men who talked down to me and made me feel less than I deserve to feel. Perhaps I may even date again, this time a guy who doesn’t play mind games with me; someone who deserves the fucking best of me. Watch out, fuckers. Who do you think you’re calling fat now?


City of Dreams

Staten Island is nice. I said it. I like it a lot. Yeah, it’s not the fashionable borough to live in. Evan from the office explicitly stated he hates Staten Island yesterday. I don’t think he’s aware that I live there. Even if he was, I don’t think he’d give a shit. That guy runs a little on the abrasive side for sure. 

I like it here because it’s quiet and peaceful, and not a huge departure from life in Florida, other than more frequent buses running down the road. I’d much rather wake up to blazing sunlight and chirping birds than the sound of a fire truck at 3 AM. Perhaps I am growing old and failing to appreciate the sounds of New York City. Either way I get the sights and sounds 5 days a week every week a year since work is smack in the middle of Manhattan. Rob from the office loves to crank the window open as soon as he gets to his desk. For reference, he sits right behind me, and further from the window than I do actually. Funny how that works out. I hear all the sounds and have a direct view of the Freedom Tower from the desk. Talk about the literal definition of “sights and sounds”.

When I want to feel like a boujee Manhattan biatch I make the conscious choice to not switch out my stilettos for flats while walking out of the office during lunch hour. That’s when you find me in my full glory – nice dress, beautiful heels, long legs strutting her stuff down the streets of Manhattan. Not to forget hair that is slowly but surely going to be caressing my ass soon. I know, I am so fucking full of myself. It’s funny though, at heart I’m still a girl who finds unmeasurable joy in little things like these. Mohamed says it all the time – it’s all in the little things. I couldn’t agree with him more. 

Part of the reason I love the peace and quiet is the room for me to think and feel this new life to the fullest. It truly is the most amazing fresh start that I have given myself. I have been thinking about my life a lot these days. It’s my nature I suppose – every time something amazing happens to me I don’t know how to embrace it or enjoy it. I keep looking over my shoulder expecting some divine clown to pop outa the corner and tell me it’s all a lie. A lot of times I even ask myself if I deserve this, or is this really my life? 

It all stems to my most vulnerable, deepest, most sensitive childhood memories. Growing up was not easy at all. Going to school at Beaconhouse in Pakistan and feeling like the ultimate underdog was hard. Rejection from my stepdad’s family was hard. His brothers and their children would get new cars, latest cell phones and all the amazing tech gear all the time. They would come over to stay at our house and rub it in my face too. They probably didn’t do it intentionally, but when you’re a child and you feel deprived and want everything of what someone else has, it certainly feels like that. I had squeezed my way in to an elite private school thanks to the power of my brains and a scholarship that followed, but let’s be real. I never belonged there, I never fit in. I was a misfit. These kids would bring more money to buy school lunch at the canteen than I had ever even held in my hand. I used to cry myself to bed every night, wishing for a change of fortune. I was innocent and my tears were silent. My parents never let me out of their sight ever. School was my only sanctuary growing up, but also a source for a lot of feelings of being inadequate. It’s where my favorite people were, but it was also where I somehow convinced myself that I am not worthy of nice things. 

Nice things – I have very strong opinions on that. Throughout my entire adult life I have prided myself in being above the menial importance of having nice things. I don’t think I ever really had a choice. I wanted nice things too when I was growing up, but I could never get my hands on them. A friend once told me that someone can’t effectively make fun of you, if you make fun of yourself first. I suppose his point was that there is power in self-depreciation. I adopted the same philosophy to my deep insecurity of not having nice things. I figured, nobody can make me feel bad about my lack of privilege or wealth or fortune, if I start taking pride in my deficiencies. It’s a strategy that worked brilliantly, up until this point in my life. 

I’ve lied to myself for so long about how having nice things is not important, that it is literally debilitating my life now. I realized that after I met Mohamed. He loves to shop and buy himself nice things. I gave him such a hard time for it, and I probably still do out of pure habit, although not as much as I did in the beginning.

I met him during a dark time in my life. I was devastated and broken after being in a relationship with someone who short-changed me emotionally. I’m sure somewhere there Mohamed and I silently exchanged coping strategies through our shitty times. I noticed him doing things that I would, and I did things he did. In a way I feel we helped each other understand the source of our miseries.

I’m not gonna lie – he gave me the courage to spend on myself. In a way I think he is the reason I am slowly learning to enjoy my hard earned money and not obsess over saving it for the day my life falls apart. That’s another epidemic of mine by the way – insecurely waiting for everything to go to shit and be destroyed inside out.

The first nice thing I bought myself out of pure whim was a Pandora bracelet a few months ago. Getting one from Monia on my birthday felt so good, I wanted to experience that feeling again. It felt great the second time around too. Despite having made amazing money for 3.5+ years, I never lived a moment where I just bought something for myself and not feel immediately guilty afterwards. It’s funny I only felt like that about physical objects and not “experiences”, because the way I spent on airplane tickets and traveling was completely different, but the way I viewed spending on actual physical objects like shoes, clothes, jewelry and make up made me realize that I was just living a lie I told myself many years ago to feel better.

Sometimes I think that lie of “you don’t need nice things” also spilled over in to my dating life. It translated in to all of this:

  1. “You don’t need to meet his parents to continue believing he truly loves you and wants a future with you.”
  2. “You don’t need to have the best of the best man next to you.” 
  3. “You don’t need to be treated like a princess, you’re a simple girl, remember?”
  4. “You don’t need him to post photos with you on Instagram. A cheaper, generic version of that (occasionally being on his snap story) is perfectly okay!”

Mohamed has this thing of always buying me Alex and Ani bracelets that have symbolism he feels resonates with me. It’s one of the sweet things he does – Gift giving is definitely one of his dominant love languages, as is mine. I never met someone who was similar to me like that, and at first I equated his sweet gestures to the grand gestures of emotional manipulation that my exes displayed. What can a girl do, your wisdom is only as great as the depth of your experiences. 

Once he bought me an Alex and Ani bracelet that I had been eyeing for months. I told him I only buy Alex and Ani when it’s on sale, to which his response was his usual blunt and honest opinion. It hit me hard. Why do I sit and ponder over saving $10 for months when the very thing I want can be bought NOW? I still struggled with buying for myself though, so I started impulsively getting things for him. It was cool taking him to Ross and seeing him being a kid in a candy store. I learned from him not to deny yourself every pleasure. It doesn’t mean to indulge in everything you set your eyes on, but it doesn’t mean to deprive yourself of small joys either. I’m happy I learned that. He made me happier and healthier that way, and helped me conquer a self-harming habit.

Now that I live in New York City – it’s a dream come true, really! I left so many thoughts, feelings and people in the dust behind me. I also left so many self degrading habits behind me too. Packing the house was hard, and emotionally taxing, but I had support in my weakest most vulnerable times. I have been very lucky in that regard. I feel my life hit a soaring peak the moment I moved here and was able to call this bustling beautiful city home. New York is somewhere so many people want to be. Even the most educated, accomplished people in this country and in this world cannot make their way here. Everyday I see mobs of tourists in the streets taking in the sights in pure awe, hoping in their hearts they could be here. I’d be lying if I said I never gave them a skirt passing by and thought to myself: “Sucks to be you, I actually live here!”

This city is tough, it’s made for the best of the best to survive and thrive. I have proven to myself and to the world – that I am the best – in my career, in the way I speak and carry myself, and in the way my sweet, innocent story of extreme hardship  touches the hearts of so many people. Amaya from the office said that to me the other day, that she doesn’t remember a lot about me from the interview, but she remembers my story and that she respects me a lot for that. That was moving to hear from a woman who has had a 20 year career and is my boss. I am incredibly grateful for everything I have. I am grateful to be surrounded by a cloud of positive things that I have self-created. Being in New York and starting my new dream life here from scratch has finally made a revelation dawn on me.

I deserve all the nice things. 

My Mirror

I’ve been thinking about how important it is to be able to relate to one another and how crucial it is especially in a romantic relationship.

When you’re the kind of person who is always hard on themselves due to the life experiences and struggles you have had, it is particularly beneficial to be with someone who has been through similar experiences and is a mirror to you. Because when you look in that mirror, it speaks back to you the words that you would say to others but never to yourself. That’s a powerful and amazing dynamic to have with someone. It’s like you’re largely the same person and instead of wasting your words of power on someone who can’t relate and will never reflect it back, you’re with someone who actually will.

It’s like lifting each other up through shit and that’s love. Love is growing together. Love is overcoming challenges, love is understanding each other.

Think of it this way – life is hard to get through, and sometimes you just don’t have enough strength, but imagine if instead of just one of you, there were two of you to navigate through it. Double the power, half the headache and all the happiness.

To love is easy, but to understand is what is hard. A lot of people love each other, but they don’t understand each other. I don’t know if I believe in that kind of love. I just don’t.

What I Need

A lot of things I talk to my close friends about these days revolve around the topic of what I need in a great partner. I suppose it’s the age I’m at and the extent of romantic trauma I have been through in my past relationship that just amplifies this sentiment in those who are closest to me and constantly looking out for me.

To be honest with you, over the past months I have been primarily busy wallowing in my emotions of sorrow and anger, and then I went on my trip and restored my sense of self worth somewhere in that circus and came back home a new person. Yet the million dollar question still lingers – What do I need?

I have been pondering over this question for a few months now, wondering and hoping and gathering insight from everyone who is confirmed to have a shred of care for me. I may not be 100% ready to answer it, but I am close and I think I want to talk about it today.

I need someone who is strong. I need a man who values my hard work, my profession and how I worked my ass off to be who I am, and where I am. I need someone who speaks with clarity, whose words, actions and thoughts are in sync and perfectly aligned as straight as an arrow. I need someone who gives me the truth no matter how harsh it is – and not just truth about my bad habits, or the things I lack in my personality or how overbearing I can be. I need the truth about things that hurt me momentarily but do me good in the bigger picture, like who else he is seeing and where exactly do I stand in his life and how he feels about me.

I need someone who needs me. I need someone for whom I am not just one of many options, I am the only option. I need someone who can be my only option and makes me want to look no more. Someone I have put through the test of time, through shitty situations and bad mood swings to see if he still wants to be around. I need someone who can stand up to me, who says yes and no with concrete reasoning and not some fucked up power trip. I need someone who can ground me and make me forget about every single other motherfucker out there. That’s how wonderful I need this person to be through the trial and error of time. I need someone who respects my family, my friends, my independence and that I need time apart from him to clear my head so I can continue being the best version of myself to him. I need a man whom my mother looks at and knows she is never going to have to worry about me again, someone whose care and presence she can leave me in when she is on her deathbed. I need someone who deserves the best of me, not only because he brings it out but because he is so wonderful that he deserves nothing less.

I want to be with someone I can argue with without fear of retaliation, or hurt feelings and grudges; someone who knows how to forgive, forget and keep marching forward towards the sun because he genuinely believes a little blip of an argument means nothing in the field of sunshine that is fueled by our love . I need someone who resolves conflict quickly and efficiently, sees the error in his ways and is not afraid to admit when he is being unreasonable or wrong. I need someone who can laugh at himself, and also laugh at me when the situation calls for it because he does not put me on a pedestal and expect perfection – to him I am a friend, companion and confidante first, and his lover after all of that.

I need a man who will make a good father one day. Someone stable, with a reserve of patience, an eye for creativity and an attitude that lets children flourish rather than be intimidated. I need a man who shows my children through his deeds that he respects and loves women, that his daughter can set out to achieve anything his son wants to, if she puts her heart and mind to it. I need a man who is on the same page as me as far as religion is concerned, because I need him to keep my children out of the harm of indoctrination and fear, and protect them from the cloaks of institutions that will mentally suppress them. I need a man who isn’t ashamed of doing things for his children around the house – like fix them a plate of food or wipe their ass. I need a provider, a protector, a fighter and a soft-hearted man.

Do I ask for much? Perhaps I do. I am so tired of feeling like I deserve any less though, that I am just this stubborn person now who won’t settle for less. My entire life I was taught girls who ask for too much are mean, and guys are irritated by them. I was taught that to earn a man’s affection you must be submissive and quiet and silence your inner thoughts with compliance, sweetness and good manners. I was taught to be the woman who gets walked all over by men because I am too nice, and I must be super lucky if someone even superficially wonderful thinks I am worthy of their time. I don’t deserve that, I put my heart and soul on the platter every single time, for men undeserving of all that I have to offer. I am so tired of playing this role of martyr – where I sacrifice everything great I have for the good of someone else, only to be sucked dry and left like none of it had any value. I am tired of being the mother to tit-sucking hungry assholes who cannot see beyond the size of my boobs and my earning potential. I am tired to prove to boys who think with their dick that with me they can finally graduate to being men. I cannot continue on this path of self-destruction and misery. I refuse to, even if it means from this day on I am my own enemy.



I hate myself. I really do. There are days when I want to disappear. I feel despicable, and unworthy and of no purpose. 

I feel tired. I feel dragged down, and I feel like nothing. Yet, a part of me relishes this feeling. It’s liberating in its own way. I don’t know how or why, but it is. 

Control – I try and achieve it wherever possible. I thrive on certainty, of knowing things well, of making thoughtful decisions. I pride myself in being rational. To say the past few weeks have been rough on me would be quite an understatement. 

I feel as if I have failed myself. I feel as if I know nothing. I feel clueless. I hate this feeling, it scares me. I’m trying to grab any piece of objectivity I can and end up shooting myself in the face in the process. I am lost and I am broken. 

I feel I’m in a situation where I am being set up to fail. I feel I have no control of the course of my life anymore. I feel weak and hurt. I have been hurt. I am heart broken and I have lost a piece of myself. I am clueless and I don’t know what to do. All I want is to fix things but it involves work and effort from someone who is not me and someone I don’t trust fully. 

I don’t think I am made for this. There must be more to my life than this looming unhappiness. There must be. 

Dictation Tool

I’m so deeply disappointed while extremely ecstatic today. I launched a photography venture not so long ago and it’s been gaining traction through word of mouth. 

I signed on a couple today for a wedding and I am super excited for that. On the other end one of my oldest friends unhired me from shooting her wedding. It was all done so poorly that it broke my heart and as much as it pains me, I think I am gonna draw the line on the amount of bullshit I have to absorb. That means I’m going to be skipping her wedding. 

No matter what happens, I always try and be genuine in my life towards other people. I personally have been disappointed so many times. It’s always a mixed bag, you never know who is the next one to surprise you. It’s often the people that you least expected. 

On the contrary, I’m very excited for this weekend. It’s Fourth of July which means will be getting drunk and shit faced while celebrating the little freedom we have left in this country. Lately, I’ve been very worried about my boyfriend. From the looks of it, it seems as if he was not able to get into any residency programs in Puerto Rico for the summertime. 

He can be so very hard on himself. He’s always there spreading positivity and good thoughts into my life, and for brief moments, I sometimes feel I’m not doing the same. 

However, it’s important for me to realize that our roles in this relationship all completely different. I am certainly more pessimistic about the world then he Is, and he has a natural ability to see all the great things in people whereas I have the natural ability of crushing his dreamer status and bringing him back to earth.  

I suppose you could say I’m far too grounded into reality, in fact I won’t even call it a reality, it’s actually an over analyzed worst case scenario version of reality. 

To be honest, I have no idea why I wrote this post to begin with, actually I didn’t even write it. I used dictation on my iPhone. I enjoy the dictation feature very much, especially while I’m driving on the road and need to focus my attention. Right now, I’m speaking into the dictation tool using an English accent that is sort of crossed with an Irish accent. Very few people know this about me, but I love to mimic accents from around the world, and I am better able to do it the more I travel to places and pick up the local dialect. 

So far the iPhones dictation tool has been working very well. I’m going to give it some rest though, and Call it a night. 

Long Streak

I feel an onset of a new wave of depression coming along. This is either going to make me or break me. 

Everything is going well for me. I am making 103% of my salary band at work, being awarded “excellent performer” and probably looking at a promotion this year. 

I can’t stop thinking about my father. Random facebook comment phrase keeps ringing in my ears and mind : “the fate of brown people who can’t be turned in to a token”…. the fate of my father. 

Due to the circumstances he died in, his medical file is plastered all over the internet because he was catalogued as unidentified. I googled his name last night, to see his medical file. But i found a forum instead. 

A year and a half ago when i got news of his death, there were no comments on that forum. But last night was different. 

There was a thread of real people – exchanging ideas on how they could locate his loved ones. And one guy recognized my father from the streets. One man who saw my father at his worst. There is a man who remembers him. 

He pitied my father, hope his family is at rest now, and described my father as “VERY MENTAL” and having seen him almost every day at a spot he walked by for work in the morning. 

This one man is my last hope. I joined the forum and dropped him a message, commented on the forum and added him as a friend. I just want to talk to this man. You have no idea how much hearing back from this man means to me. It means the whole world. 

I suppose my mom was right. My father had to have been mentally ill to end up on the streets. 

A frenzy of google searches related to common psychological diseases amongst the homeless followed. My heart kept breaking and breaking in to a million slivers till I could take it no more. 

I cried myself to exhaustion and finally fell asleep at 5 am. I woke and checked gmail in a frenzy, hoping for notification from said man. Did he reply? Did he see my comment? When was said man last active? Does he think I am spamming him?

I would like to continue functioning in my life as if everything is normal. But who am I kidding. I can’t do this anymore. I am tired of pretending to cope when I am falling apart in to pieces at every step.

It’s enough to know your father died on the road with only one shoe, sweater and pants…and a whole other deal to know he was also very mentally ill while being forgotten by society. 

This is by far the biggest burden life has given me and I need to figure out how to live with this. 

Today in Adulting – Vol 1

The incompetent neighborhood post office emptied out my mailbox, put a vacancy notice in it (because I didn’t check mail for a week), and destroyed my unregistered mail which includes my Global Entry ID card. They returned my brand new passport to Arkansas – and it may as well be lost forever.

West Melbourne Water Bills have switched to a new system where you are required to enter a pin for your account # every time you pay your bill, except that pin cannot be changed or customized to something you can ACTUALLY remember, so if you’re like me and don’t have it tattooed on your right buttock, you have to call and ask them what it is – EVERY SINGLE TIME.

No news on my clearance from the govt, so I am mentally preparing to pay for a $300 Pakistani visa to go home this year, on a passport that the USPS does not want me to receive.

And then they wonder why people don’t stand up for the stupid national anthem.

Glass Ceiling

I don’t know of it’s “adulting” or just plain mental exhaustion, but I definitely feel I am a short brown girl always fighting off some force of the world. Life seems to be a constant struggle and I’m just a below average swimmer trying to stay afloat. 

While a lot of things have gone great recently, a lot of others have also gone wrong; and I am trying really hard to mentally process it but sometimes it’s too much to handle. 

Recently I got rejected by the University of Florida for their masters program. It makes me angry because I surpassed all their program requirements – GPA, GRE Score, etc. by a large margin. They told me my academic record is “problematic”. 

Those of you who have been following my blog for a long time know that my academic life was full of turmoil and struggle. I dropped out of college in my sophomore year. I was severely depressed, and not in a good place in my life. I worked hard during this time. I attended community college, sought help for my mental health, and was on medication for a long time. I returned and graduated within two years in top 20% of my class. I did well, better than anyone else. I was lucky I had help from a few close friends, and the resources to put myself through school. 

I know that when you have seen rock bottom, it always seems like an accomplishment to come out of that situation. It’s been a long time since I was in that place, but never have I ever felt apologetic. My academic record ended up being stellar and much better then almost every other person I knew in my program. 

In my eyes, overcoming adversity is a strong characteristic. A lot of the people who extended job offers to me before my graduation also shared my sentiment. 

So, when the University of Florida told me that my rough patch is their reason to reject me, my first emotion was anger. Then, I felt self-pity and self hate. Now, I am just heartbroken. 

I could go on and on of all the petty things that pile together and weigh on me and eat awat at my self-confidence and self-esteem, but what good has that done anyone right?

People say that sharing your troubles makes it better, but I don’t feel better. I feel like a self-centered dick hogging for attention from anyone who would be willing to listen. This is very ill suited to my personality. 

Socially Awkward

I worry a lot. Sometimes I worry about things I don’t usually bother about. And then when I can’t wrap my head around them, I realize why I decide to live without emphasizing on them. 
I always tell my friends – and they generally agree, that I am an acquired taste. Kind of like asparagus. 
I have never really bothered to be accepted fully by people, pleasing others has never been on my life agenda. However, there are always some people that you want on your good side whether you like them or not. That’s where life for people like me gets very difficult. 

I try and relate to people as much as I can, but sometimes the roadblock is just too big. This problem is very prominent in my relationships with women. I’m not very well versed in fashion, I definitely do not know proper etiquette of how to gossip about others. The biggest problem is that I can be very insensitive with my crude and blunt sense of humor. Basically – all the odds are stacked against me. 
I don’t know.